


Nine, Ten, and Eleven O'Clock

by kattahj



Category: Press Gang
Genre: Clubbing, F/F, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-22
Updated: 2002-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/pseuds/kattahj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lynda's late night of working is disturbed by Sam, who is determined that the two of them should have fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine, Ten, and Eleven O'Clock

NINE O'CLOCK

Lynda firmly crossed out the ending of Graham's article, and then proceeded to correct punctuation. It seemed to her that he had about as much concept of period marks as a Cockney has of the letter H, never using it at all except when he absolutely shouldn't. She glanced at her clock and sighed when she saw it was almost nine o'clock. Unless the rest of the articles were flawless, it looked like she would have to sleep in the newsroom again.

She raised her head at a noise from the graphics room, and saw Sam coming out of it, looking slightly dazed and with her hair almost falling down.

"What are you still doing here?" Lynda asked, annoyed at having her work disturbed. "I thought you had left hours ago. Your date has called three times."

"I fell asleep," Sam said, sitting down on Sarah's desk. "Now remind me, my date?"

"His name was Phillip," Lynda said, wondering why she got such an irresistible urge to stab Sam with a letter opener.

"Oh, him. He's a bore anyway. No loss then."

"Why do you go out with a boy if you don't even like him?"

"I don't know. Why don't you go out with a boy that you do like?"

Lynda huffed and returned to the articles, but not before seeing the smile that played on Sam's lips. Bitch. "Since you're here, why don't you help out?"

"Because it's Friday night, and I prefer to have a life," Sam said, trying to get her hair back in place. "I think I'll go dancing." She looked as if she regretted the next words as soon as she had said them: "Do you want to come?"

They both got expressions of utmost horror. Spending an evening together? Actually going out to dance as if they were friends?

"Sure," Lynda heard herself say. "Might be fun."

TEN O'CLOCK

Sam was dancing in the middle of the room and seemed to be enjoying herself tremendously. That was hardly unexpected. What surprised Lynda, sitting at a table by the side watching it all, was that she was actually enjoying herself as well. She had even danced a little, and not felt half as idiotic as she used to. And a boy had *smiled* at her. Granted, he had accidentally stepped on her foot about half a minute later and nearly crushed her toes, but the smile had come first, and that really pleased her. A certain somebody had a tendency of thinking he was irreplaceable, but she could attract others as well as he could. Okay, so maybe not *as* well. It would take a veritable Doña Juanita to do that. But she was certainly doing better than anyone would have expected of her. Sam not least of all.

The blonde turned her head at that very moment and noticed Lynda's gaze. She smiled and waved a little, and Lynda waved back. Although she'd deny it vehemently if ever asked, Lynda had to admit that part of the pleasure was watching Sam dance. She looked so very careless and happy out there; even her normal superiority had almost given place to a genuine interest for the music and the people on the dance floor. Oh, she was still flirting, but not as a means to heighten her status. And Lynda had to admit the change was quite attractive. Normally it might have made her miffed. Whenever Kenny or Sarah spent to much time around Sam, she always used to tell herself that it was just the makeup and the clothes. Sam wasn't really all that much prettier than she was, and almost as bitchy. Finding out that there was actually a personality beneath that Barbie-doll face was unexpected. But somehow, she didn't mind.

The music paused, and Sam returned to her chair, sweating a little but breathing easily. "Having fun?"

"Actually, yes."

"I'm glad. Do you mind?" Sam reached out her hand for Lynda's Coke and took some deep draughts without waiting for an answer. "It's so hot in here! I swear one of the blokes next to me had heat floating away from him in four feet waves, and they all smelled awful... oh no, he's headed this way."

Lynda looked up and saw a boy with a self-certain grin coming towards them. She didn't have time to see if he was really as vile as Sam's tone of voice suggested, because at that very moment Sam grabbed her face and whispered "Hurry, kiss me!" before letting action follow her words.

It was a nice kiss. Lynda was too astonished to notice details, but her general impression was that Sam was a better kisser than Spike. Figures that she would be. For some reason, people who bragged a lot tended to be best at the things they *didn't* brag about. The kiss deepened in desperation and Lynda's most coherent thought was now "mmmm", until Sam suddenly let go.

"Thank God, he left."

"Do you do that a lot?" Lynda asked, her high spirits gone. She wasn't sure if she was most irritated that Sam had kissed her or that she had stopped.

"Of course. It's the best way of getting rid of unwanted company." Sam noticed Lynda's expression and smiled, that teasing superiority coming back into her voice as she asked, "Have you never kissed a girl before?"

"No!" Lynda was offended by the question, even though she wasn't entirely sure why. Kissing a girl wasn't such a terrible thing, after all.

"Not even for training?"

This puzzled her. "Training?"

"You know, learning how to do it?"

"Oh. No, I did that with... a boy."

Sam shrugged, and it was impossible to tell if she thought Lynda had missed out on something or not.

"So why did you do it?" Lynda had to ask.

Sam looked at her with utmost surprise. "Did you see that boy?"

"I didn't get much of a look," Lynda admitted. Trying to make it sound like a joke, she added, "I take it you found him less attractive than me."

A subtle emotion flew over Sam's face. Lynda wasn't sure she had read it correctly – and then it was gone. "You're very attractive, Lynda. You're a complete bitch and don't know how to dress yourself, but you're definitely attractive."

The music had started again, and now switched to "Voulez Vous". Sam immediately stood up. "I have to dance to this one. But I'll be back, I promise!"

Just like before, she didn't wait for a reply. Lynda found herself alone at the table once again, watching Sam dance. But now the view disturbed her more than it had before, and although it was still pleasant, she wasn't sure it was a pleasure she approved of.

ELEVEN O'CLOCK

The longer she sat there, the more Lynda wished for someone she could bitch at, and she didn't want it to be Sam. She knew things had gotten really out of hand when she found herself missing Graham's article.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, once again sitting down for a chat. "You don't seem to be having fun anymore."

"I think I should leave," Lynda replied. "There are all these articles at the newsroom, and..."

"You can't!" Sam stated. "Seriously, Lynda, you just can't work any more tonight. If you want to go home, we'll go home, but correcting articles at eleven PM is pathetic."

"...And my foot hurts," Lynda finished, not caring what Sam said, as long as she got out of this place.

"You want to work with an aching foot?" Sam asked, clearly not ready to accept a yes to that question. "Not to mention walk all the way back to the newsroom? Don't be silly. I'll take you to my place, and we'll watch a film or something. How does that sound?"

Lynda stared at Sam's talking, smiling mouth. She couldn't help herself. It was such a wonderful mouth, and it could do such wonderful things.

"It sounds fine, I guess," she said. "But do you have a spare bed for me?"

"Afraid not," Sam said, getting her jacket from the chair and grinning at Lynda.  
Lynda wondered if she had misinterpreted that grin. Then Sam put an arm around her to help her out, and she knew she hadn't. Because Sam's hand wasn't resting on her back.

Nobody else seemed to have noticed anything. Sam wasn't only a better kisser than Spike. She was also a lot more subtle in her advances.

 

THE END


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